


Of Dragon-Heart and Dragon-Hands

by hoomhum



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Erebor hasn't fallen, M/M, Slow Burn, Suspicious Dwarves, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6369916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoomhum/pseuds/hoomhum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a lot more to the voice in Bilbo’s head than he had presumed and it seems said voice is determined to complicate his life. For one thing, it claims to be a dragon. For another, everyone he meets is terribly interested to know more and Bilbo does not have the answers they would seek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, oh man, so this is going to be a monster. It's also my first Hobbit fic. I'm messing with canon, messing with lore, messing with ages, and generally following an entirely different path. It will be quite the undertaking and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> First chapter is really short, but the rest will be much longer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a simple hobbit seeks help for a not so simple malady.

Hobbits were not made for rain. At least, they were not made for torrential downpours that lasted hours on end and left the road and the land surrounding it full of great puddles and mud with no dry place to bed down for the night. Spring showers that fed blossoming gardens were one thing, but this—this was unbearable.

 

Perhaps, Bilbo thought to himself, it was not the rain so much as it was the traveling. Sure, he’d done his fair share of walking tours and afternoon rambles. Took blood ran in his veins, after all. But each of those excursions ended with a dry dressing gown, a nice cup of tea, and a place at the hearth.

 

Not with a miserable and half drowned hobbit wrapped in an already sodden blanket, laying in the least muddy patch of grass he could find, and trying to sleep for the night despite the large, cold raindrops that hammered down on his drenched form.

 

Now he longed for Bag End, a soft bed with dry sheets, and a warm fire.

 

 _Fire I can give you,_ the voice in his head said with a deep hum of satisfaction. _Fire is easy._

 

“Be quiet,” Bilbo told it, his frustration bubbling to the surface. It was the voice’s fault that he was out here in the first place. He’d been perfectly happy with his life in Hobbiton, but now he had another presence and personality dogging his every step. Not just any personality, but one that claimed to be a dragon of all things! “You just keep quiet and leave me be.”

 

 _No,_ was all the voice said, before a screeching pain tore through his head.

 

Bilbo hated it when this happened. The process was almost indescribable, like he was being cut out of his own body, forced into the back corner of his head to watch as the other being took control.

 

 _It hurts because you resist me._ There was no sympathy in the dragon’s tone, even as he used Bilbo’s hands to draw off the blanket and borrowed his feet to stand. He rubbed Bilbo’s hands together before pointing his palms to the ground and doing something that Bilbo could not comprehend.

 

“It’s my body,” Bilbo said, startling himself when he realized that the dragon had given him back control. Before him a blue fire burned despite the downpour. He stared at it, stomach sinking. Before, he’d been able to convince himself that it was just a matter of his mind. But this… He huffed, grabbing his blanket and shuffling nearer to its warmth. He found he could not be grateful, even in the presence of what some might call a miracle. “It’s my body, so go find your own.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are several dwarves and few explanations.

_Wake, Shireling_. _Now._

 

Bilbo grumbled at the dragon’s words, but nevertheless found his eyes opening. He yelped upon realizing he was surrounded by dwarves.

 

Dwarves! He recognized them from his mother’s stories, remarkable for their beards and short stature (though they stood taller than any hobbit he had ever known).

_Such tiny things,_ the dragon commented. _I thought they’d be bigger._ Bilbo ignored him as he gaped at the well armed newcomers. Thankfully they seemed to mean him no harm.

 

After a round of rather terse introductions, the five dwarves invited themselves to sit around Bilbo’s fire. More than a little intimidated, Bilbo quickly broke out what was left of the sausages he’d purchased at Bree. Even on the road he felt obligated to be a good host, despite the dragon’s grumbling.

 

“Budge up lads, make room for your uncle,” the eldest looking dwarf said, jostling the younger of the two brothers so that they could all fit in a tight circle around the fire. He then plucked the package of sausages from Fίli—or was that Kίli?—and passed it over to the uncle in question, a somber looking dark haired dwarf that had been introduced simply as “Thorin.”

 

Kίli (or Fίli, whichever of them was the one with little facial hair) shifted obligingly before going back to interrogating Bilbo.

 

“So what are you, then, Master Baggins?” he asked, one hand holding tight to his sausage and the other poking at Bilbo’s blanket, trying to uncover his feet.

 

Bilbo smacked his hand away, but the dwarf seemed both unoffended and undeterred.

 

“I’m a hobbit,” he informed him. His brother was pressed up against Bilbo’s other side, listening eagerly. Bilbo found he appreciated both the warmth and the attention, despite the fact that the rest of the party seemed to be ignoring him.

 

“And what’s a hobbit?” the blonde nephew inquired promptly, right as his brother cut in asking, “Is that why your feet are so funny and you’ve got no hair?”

 

“My feet are perfectly normal, thank you.” He didn’t pause, despite the snort of what must have been laughter from the interloper in his head. “They’re normal hobbit feet. I come from the Shire, not far from here. Surely you passed it.”

 

It was the blonde’s turn to prod at his feet and the hair that covered them. “But they’re so big!”

 

“How do you wear shoes?”

 

It was like dealing with fauntlings, bright eyed and curious about everything. Bilbo allowed himself a smile before shaking his head.

 

“Hobbits don’t need shoes,” he told them, turning his feet to the side so that they could see the tough soles. “Ghastly things. Don’t know how you lot put up with them.”

 

“See, Kee? I told you they weren’t wearing shoes!” The blond said triumphantly.

 

“So you did see the Shire? Yes, there’s not a hobbit there who would stand to cover their feet up like that,” Bilbo confirmed, straightening out the name confusion at last. The blond was Fίli, then.

 

“I thought—“

 

“When did you lads go by that place?” A third voice interrupted the two babbling brothers. Dwalin was the largest of the company of five, made even more intimidating by the grand axes that he carried. Bilbo was grateful that his suspicious stare was directed at Fίli and Kίli, rather than the poor hobbit between them.

 

Kίli’s shoulders hunched guiltily. “When we were hunting yesterday.”

 

“An’ is that why ye came back with just the one rabbit between the two of ye after being gone for so long?”

 

“We were just—“ Fίli was interrupted by a blow to the back of the head from Dwalin. Such a blow would have surely knocked Bilbo to the ground, but the young dwarf barely seemed to notice!

 

 _A light breeze would knock you to the ground,_ the dragon said snidely. _It’s a miracle you’ve survived this far._

Fίli’s words drew Thorin’s attention and Bilbo was once again relieved not to be the focus of such a stare. “Other folk cannot be trusted. How often must you be told?”

 

Taking advantage of his distance from Dwalin, Kίli piped up instead. “We didn’t go off talking to them, just rode past is all.”

 

“Fools,” Thorin spat, not breaking his glare. There was a moment of silence before he jerked his head. “Up. Sit beside me.”

 

Kίli began to protest, but his brother, already on his feet, kicked him harshly in the ribs to quiet him. The circle shifted and a very uncomfortable Bilbo found himself squashed between Dwalin and Balin instead. Across from him the younglings flanked their uncle, their heads bowed.

 

No one spoke for several long minutes and Bilbo felt the discomfort increasing with every passing second. He had just built up his nerve to stand and declare he needed to get going when Balin turned to face him.

 

“It’s been a long journey and we appreciate the use of your fire,” he said, tugging at his dual pronged beard as he surveyed the flickering blue flames. “But how does a hobbit come by such a queer little flame?”

 

Ah, well. Now there was an uncomfortable question that, despite all odds, Bilbo had hoped to avoid answering.

 

 _Tell them_ , the dragon crooned in side his head. _Tell them of my power, of my majesty._

Bilbo forced himself not to roll his eyes. He certainly would not!

 

“I’m afraid that’s a very long story, Master Balin.” He gave a small, apologetic shrug. “Let it just be said that I’m quite pleased to share it with all of you.”

 

Balin nodded, though it was clear he was not entirely convinced. For several brief seconds Bilbo thought that perhaps that would be the end of it. Dwalin dashed his hopes quite firmly.

 

“We’re not leaving til this rain lets up. Plenty of time.”

 

“Ah—it’s just—“ Bilbo stammered over his words, discomfited by the dwarf’s insistence. Were he speaking with hobbits, his subtle refusal would have been easily accepted, even if the gossip mills would later run wild. With dwarves though, it seemed that “I’d rather not” was not an acceptable answer.

 

 _Tell them_ , the dragon insisted again. Bilbo’s gaze flicked from the fire to the five faces that were watching him with intense curiosity. Even Fίli and Kίli had raised their heads to listen in.

 

“To be honest, I don’t know,” he said to his toes, voice very small. “It sort of just… happened.”

 

“Happened,” Thorin repeated. That was perhaps the first word that he’d spoken to Bilbo since he’d awoken. It was laced with an understandable amount of disbelief.

 

“Yes,” Bilbo confirmed, despite the many raised brows around him. Oh, confound it all! He’d barely told his kin of his… issue. Now he was going to tell a group of strangers? “If you must know, I am going to seek the healers of Rivendale because there is a voice inside my head claiming to be a dragon and it can take control of me. It—well, it made this fire. Not me.”

 

There went any chance he had of maintaining his reputation of a proper hobbit. His only consolation was that these dwarves clearly had no idea what a proper hobbit was, so at least they wouldn’t be disappointed. Disgusted by his illness of mind, perhaps, but not disappointed.

 

_You aren’t ill, Shireling._

 

Aside from the dragon’s rather unhelpful reply, nothing was said. At least, nothing that Bilbo could understand. The dwarves were exchanging glances the meaning behind which he could only guess. Fίli’s jaw had dropped slightly and he stared at Bilbo with an expression of pure fascination, while Kίli tugged on his brother’s sleeve and made a series of low, guttural sounds that must have been a language. Thorin held a similar conversation with Balin, while Dwalin’s gaze narrowed, inspecting first the fire and then Bilbo.

 

Rude, Bilbo thought, despite his complete mortification at having admitted his madness to the group. They could at least have said something! He wasn’t sure what type of reaction he would have preferred, but certainly not this.

 

Finally Balin spoke in a tongue he could understand.

 

“That settles it then, Master Baggins. You’ll come with us to Erebor.”

 

“Erebor?” Bilbo squeaked, barely registering the dragon’s hum of approval. He knew little of the lone mountain, save that it was far, far away. Much further than Rivendale.

 

Balin nodded. “We could hardly leave you to the hands of elves.” An unattractive sneer passed over the elderly dwarf’s face.

 

On his other side, Dwalin grunted in agreement. “Elves,” he scoffed, disgust evident.

 

 

“I couldn’t,” Bilbo said. “That’s far too far!” Leaving his cozy smial to come this far had been bad enough. He wasn’t prepared to go traipsing across all of Middle Earth!

 

Across the fire, Thorin got to his feet. He towered over all of them and fixed Bilbo with a hard look. “You’re coming. That’s final.” His words gave Bilbo no room to argue, though he very dearly wanted to. “Kίli, ride with your brother. The Hobbit will take your pony.”

 

The dragon, traitor that he was, crowed in victory.

 

“P-pony?” Bilbo found himself hauled to his feet by the dwarves beside him, each with a hand beneath his elbow. “That’s very kind, but I couldn’t—no, I’ll be fine walking, thank you, I don’t need…”

 

Again, he was given no choice. As Balin packed up his things for him, Fίli and Kίli escorted him to one of the ponies grazing nearby.

 

“Don’t be silly,” Kίli told him.

 

“You can’t just walk to Erebor,” Fίli agreed.

 

“You’ll ride Myrtle here.”

 

Bilbo found himself standing beside a pony who seemed completely unfazed by his hesitance. She was also quite tall. Gracious, did they really think he could climb up on this beast?

 

“But I can’t---“

 

“We’ll help you up,” Fίli said with a grin. On his other side, Kίli nodded. They both bent down to grab hold of his ankles. “On three.”

 

“Three!” They shouted in unison, hoisting him up and onto the pony.

 

He promptly toppled over the other side and hit the ground with an unpleasant squelch.

 

~

 

“How were we to know he wouldn’t grab hold of the saddle?” Fίli whined later, from atop his pony. He rode beside his brother, trailing behind Thorin who didn’t seem to be listening to him. Behind them, Bilbo rolled his eyes. He was firmly ensconced on a different pony, seated in front of Dwalin. The taciturn dwarf had said nothing when he pulled the hobbit up in front of him and even now with Bilbo pressed up against his front and surrounded by his arms, he didn’t say a word.

 

If anything, he seemed to be glaring a little more.

 

The only thing that had really gone right since he’d woken in the presence of his new companions, was that it had finally stopped raining. The clouds had given way to blue sky and the sun beamed down on them. Their clothes steamed as they dried, creating an uncomfortable damp warmth which was a high contrast to last night’s freezing cold.

 

 _Will you never be satisfied?_ Bilbo ignored the jibe and tried to pluck his collar away from his neck to allow for some air flow.

 

The dwarves, he realized with some horror a while later, had no intention of stopping for second breakfast or elevenses. He tried to protest, but his words fell on deaf ears and no one responded, save for Dwalin who gave a growl of disgust.

 

Bilbo was fairly sure he heard him mutter “Halfings,” in nearly the same tone he had used to disparage the elves. If it weren’t for fear of falling from the pony’s back (and of Dwalin’s axes) he might have given the dwarf a piece of his mind. As it was, he suffered in silence. He’d have to explain when they stopped for luncheon.

 

An hour later, the sun was at its highest point in the sky and Bilbo began to wonder if dwarves ate at all. His stomach had begun whining in protest at the skipped meals, but his traveling companions made no complaint. Thankfully he was spared working up the nerve to speak up again, as not long after Fίli dug into his pack and rode down the length of their small company handing out food.

 

It was little more than hard bread and some dried meat, but it settled him for now and disproved his suspicion that maybe dwarves just ate rocks and that was why they were so fond of them.

 

He spent the rest of the day pondering the dwarves and ignoring the dragon’s steady commentary on his thoughts. It didn’t seem to have anything particularly helpful to say and had little to share or add to Bilbo’s knowledge of dwarves and dwarven culture.

 

All that he knew came from his mother’s stories and the history books in the library. Belladonna’s stories, which he continued to cherish well past the fauntling stage, focused on a time before the dwarven isolation. At that time, dwarves had been common. They traded with men and elves, built mighty kingdoms, and prospered as well as the other races.

 

Then, for reasons the history books never clearly explained, the dwarves stopped leaving their mountains. Trade withered and died, dwarven goods becoming rare commodities. In fact, the only reason the rest of Middle Earth knew that the dwarves persisted was because of the regular trade caravans that carried food to the mountains.

 

Aside from the tales told by the men of those caravans, there had been no whisper from the dwarves. They had simply retreated into the stone. How odd it was, then, to see not one but five dwarves traveling in these lands.

 

When they stopped for the day, Bilbo was shunted to the side. The dwarves set up camp with an efficiency clearly born of being on the road for so long. Fίli and Kίli sought out dry wood to get the fire going, Thorin and Dwalin tended to the ponies, speaking together in low voices and that language that Bilbo could not understand. Balin checked through their supplies, laid out bedrolls and prepared dinner for the fire.

 

Suddenly ignored, Bilbo found a stump to sit on and dug a packet of nuts from his pack. No one spared him a second glance, not even the young lads when they had finished their tasks. He finished his nuts and found some hard cheese to nibble on as he watched the various goings on, when suddenly he wondered if he’d offended the dwarves. Was that why they weren’t speaking to him? Fίli and Kίli had at least been interested in him earlier that day, but not any longer.

 

Don’t be a fool, Bilbo, he chided himself a moment later. His gaze fell to Thorin, who was watching with a critical eye as his nephews began to spar with swords. If anyone had any right to be offended, it was Bilbo! He hadn’t wanted to come with these dwarves in the first place, let alone ride atop one of their ponies! He may be part Took, but that didn’t mean he wanted to cross the continent in the company of strangers who clearly thought very little of him.

 

No, this wouldn’t do at all. He would just have to find a way to leave these dwarves behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are elves and more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback and for reading!

It very quickly became clear that the older dwarves had warned the younger off of talking to him. Despite the fact that he hadn’t intended on traveling with them at all, Bilbo found himself disappointed. Hobbits were, after all, sociable creatures and nearly three weeks of traveling on his own made him quite eager for conversation of any kind.

 

So when Kίli, who sat watch in the hours just before dawn, did not reply to his polite good morning, Bilbo tried his best not to take it to heart. He packed up his bedroll and shouldered his pack before picking his way across the small camp to where the dwarf sat.

 

“I’m going to get some breakfast before we get started,” he informed Kίli. As Kίli and Fίli seemed the least suspicious of him, it was probably for the best that the young dwarf was on watch while he enacted his plan. “Just give a shout if I’m not back by the time the others are up?”

 

Kίli’s stoic expression faltered when his gaze turned from their surroundings to Bilbo. “How do you intend to hunt with no weapon?”

 

Taken aback, Bilbo quickly shook his head. “Hunt? I’ve never hunted a thing in my life. Do you mean to tell me dwarves don’t gather food?”

 

It was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Kίli straightened up and looked away from him hastily.

 

“Some dwarves must, but I do not,” he said stiffly. Even in the pale light, Bilbo could see a slight flush on the young dwarf’s cheeks. Was he embarrassed not to know what plants were edible?

 

Against his better judgement Bilbo asked, “Would you like me to show you?”

 

This was how he found himself moving through the woods, collecting different types of sorrel and clovers, pointing out the best types of berries and those to avoid, and chattering about nuts to the dwarf that tromped along behind him.

 

Luckily, they were too far away from camp now to worry about waking the rest of the party. Unluckily, Bilbo had foiled his own escape plan by inviting the dwarf along.

 

The dragon, who had been in favor of going with the dwarves from the start, found this incredibly amusing. At least one of them did, he thought to himself with a huff.

 

They were picking blueberries when he heard it, a sound not unlike footsteps. He put an arm out to Kίli, urging him to hush while he listened.

 

“It’s probably just my brother, come to find out what we’re up to,” Kίli reassured him, though his grip had tightened somewhat on his bow. “No need to worry, Master Baggins.”

 

 _Danger_ , the dragon warned as a great hulking figure stepped onto the path. At the same instance two more closed in behind them. They were taller than men, with grey skin and eerie yellow eyes, and carried vicious and ugly weapons. Orcs. He might not have recognized them, were it not for his mother’s stories.

 

Fear gripped Bilbo’s heart, turning it to ice in his chest as he backed away from the snarling figures. He was no fighter and it seemed there was little chance he could outrun them, as quickly as they had crept from the shadows. Kίli carried only his bow, a ranged weapon that Bilbo couldn’t imagine was useful in such close quarters. Frightened, he stepped toward the young dwarf anyway, seeking what little protection he could find.

 

What came next happened almost too quickly for Bilbo to follow. The beast nearest him made a choking sound and suddenly toppled forward, nearly knocking Bilbo over. Behind him he heard two more thuds, but Kίli hadn’t even had time to nock an arrow.

 

Struggling against the now dead weight of the orc that was threatening to crush him, Bilbo realized the reason for its sudden collapse was a neatly pointed arrow poking through the center of its throat. Why, unless he was quite mistaken, such a fine arrowhead could belong to none other than the elves! His suspicions were quickly confirmed as an elf stepped forward to topple the orc to the side, freeing Bilbo and allowing him to take stock of the situation. Just as quickly as they had gotten in trouble, they seemed to have found their way free from it!

 

Some of Bilbo’ss relief faded when he realized the two dark haired elves in front of him both had arrows trained directly at Kίli’s chest. The young dwarf had his own bow raised in kind, despite the fact that he was outnumbered. Bilbo counted no fewer than six elves around them.

 

“Is this dwarf bothering you, Master Hobbit?” One of the elves asked, his voice deadly calm.

 

 _They’re as fond of dwarves as dwarves are of them,_ the dragon observed in an entirely unhelpful manner.

 

“No!” Bilbo quickly stepped in front of Kίli and urged him to lower his weapon. Gracious, hadn’t there been enough death today? It was all quite unnerving. “No, he is my friend.”

 

“Very well,” the other elf said, lowering his bow. He did not, Bilbo noticed, return the arrow to his quiver. “I am Elrohir and this is my brother Elladan. You are fortunate we were patrolling nearby.”

 

“Quite!” Bilbo agreed, letting out an uneasy breath. “Thank you for coming to our aid. I am Bilbo Baggins, and this is my companion-“

 

“Kori,” Kίli cut in before Bilbo could continue. His voice sounded quite strained as he added, “At your service.”

 

“No dwarf has been seen outside of their mountains in several centuries,” Elladan said, his gaze never leaving Kίli’s. “I’m sure you’ll forgive our wariness at your sudden appearance.”

 

Given Kίli’s expression, Bilbo was fairly certain the dwarf wasn’t about to forgive anything. Thankfully though, all of the weapons had finally been lowered. Around him three other elves moved to collect and investigate the bodies of the slain orcs.

 

“Your quarrel with my kin has no place here,” Kίli said, drawing Bilbo’s attention back to the matter at hand. “I have lived apart from them since birth. The hobbit requested a guide and guard for his travels and I volunteered my services.”

 

The twins in front of them exchanged a look and spoke soft Sindarin behind their hands. Bilbo caught the faint syllables, but they were too quiet to be completely understood. Something about Kίli’s skill as a guard, or lack thereof. No doubt their words would have riled Kίli further and Bilbo had no wish for either of them to come to harm.

 

“Ah—“ he interrupted, clearing his throat. “Ki—Kori has been my companion for a while now and if you will not trust him, then trust in me. We hobbits do not give our word lightly.”

 

This seemed to amuse the twins further and Bilbo found irritation beginning to blossom in his chest. No wonder the elves and the dwarves were at odds, if this was the way elves behaved! Never mind that the dwarves hadn’t exactly been an example of perfect manners. He huffed and pulled himself up to fullest height before staring the twins down.

 

“We have come seeking the healers of Rivendell. You have already helped us once and we would be much obliged if you could take us there immediately.” He did not cut a very impressive figure, he knew, but he had come this far and wasn’t about to be hindered by some chatty young elves.

 

Even if the dragon was warning him away with every breath.

 

“Very well,” Elrohir said, inclining his head gracefully. Everything the elves did had the same fluid sort of grace, one which Bilbo imagined he wouldn’t be able to replicate even if he had a thousand years to practice. It was both impressive and unnerving. A glance to Kίli confirmed that the dwarf found their new guides quite unsettling as well.

 

Elladan made a gesture over their heads and moments later several mounted elves appeared, bringing with them more of the tall steeds the race seemed to favor. “One of you may ride with me, the other with my brother. We shall have you at Imladris within the hour.”

 

That was all well and good, once they were finally able to get going. Bilbo had tried to insist he could walk, but the elves were no more inclined to listen to him than the dwarves had been. Then Kίli refused to ride with an elf and insisted having a horse of his own. Just when they had considered that matter settled, he insisted further that Bilbo ride with him. Between sorting those arrangements and loading the bodies of the dead between the rest of the horses, it was quite some time before they got on the road.

 

The stories Bilbo had been told as a fauntling, and that he had passed on to the offspring of his neighbors and friends, did Rivendell no justice. Words could not convey the beauty of the valley, but more significantly they could not capture the feeling of utter peace that washed over Bilbo as they entered. It was as though a great weight that he did not know he had been carrying had been suddenly lifted from his shoulders. It was remarkable, even if the dragon chided him for being easily impressed.

 

They were escorted to the healing wing and given a small room, inside of which was a bed, a small writing desk and two chairs. Upon the desk sat a platter of fresh fruit and in the corner there was a washbasin.

 

“We’ll leave you here,” Elrohir told them. “And inform our father of your arrival.”

 

“Your father is a healer?” Bilbo asked, eyes still a bit wide from taking in the homey room. It was much closer to hobbit tastes than he had imagined elves would possess, and the bed was even the right size for him!

 

Elladan smirked as they bowed out of the room. “Our father is Lord Elrond.”

 

The door closed behind them with a click and the sound was punctuated by a long stream of what Bilbo imagined to be curses spoken in that guttural, unfamiliar tongue. Kίli folded his arms over his chest, glare focused on the door and the elves that were beyond it.

 

“You needn’t have come,” Bilbo offered, feeling somewhat apprehensive at addressing the angry dwarf. “Why did you? And why didn’t you give your true name?”

 

Kίli’s frown only deepened at that. He paced the length of the room and then back again before saying tersely, “I don’t trust elves.”

 

That much Bilbo had already surmised. To his annoyance, the dragon huffed in agreement with the young dwarf. Honestly, such open hostility seemed unreasonable. Elrohir and Elladan had been a bit rude, but no more so than younglings of any race might be. It was certainly not cause for the intensity of the young dwarf’s mistrust.

 

He crossed the room as well and helped himself to some berries from the fruit platter. “All the more reason for you to have returned to the others.”

 

He watched Kίli, taking in his agitated posture and the way his hands worried at his bow.

 

“Uncle said not to let you out of our sight.” The lad seemed to deflate at the mention of his kin. He looked much younger now, more like the curious youth that had pestered him by the fire the previous day than the stoic dwarf he had greeted earlier that morning. “You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“Well, I would understand a great deal more if you lot would be so kind as to explain yourselves. All I ever wanted was to reach Rivendell and then you all went and—and—abducted me!”

 

“You got your wish,” Kίli pointed out sullenly. He finally, _finally_ , put away his bow. Now it seemed he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

 

Much of Bilbo’s righteous annoyance went out of him at the troubled lad’s words. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

 

~

 

“It must be quite a small dragon.”

 

Kίli snickered at the healer’s response, but Bilbo frowned. The line had been delivered with so blank an expression that he wasn’t even sure it was a joke. Mennor, like all the elves that they had thus far encountered, was very difficult to read.

 

“It—well. I haven’t exactly seen it, what with it being in my head and all,” Bilbo replied after a moment of stammering. “I mean… it’s just a voice, isn’t it? Can you stop voices?”

 

The bit about the fire wasn’t that important was it? It was probably just chance, or a random coincidence. It certainly wasn’t a _real_ dragon. Right?

 

Though he didn’t say anything, Bilbo could tell the dragon was quite affronted. To claim it was just a voice was a vast oversimplification, even ignoring the fire. Words weren’t the only communication Bilbo heard from the beast. Flashes of emotion and other impressions bled through as well. Now, for example, there was anger. It seemed quite separate from the insulted mien from seconds ago.

 

“I confess we haven’t much expertise when dealing with hobbits,” Mennor admitted finally. He peered closely into each of Bilbo’s eyes and put a hand to his chest to feel his breathing and heartbeat. At least, that’s what Bilbo assumed. His own healing prowess lay in poultices and potions, neither of which had been of any use to him.  Mennor went on, “You seem to be quite healthy for your kind. Perhaps if you showed me the problem I would gain further insight.”

 

“Show you?” Bilbo frowned in confusion, even as Kίli straightened up and watched with interest.

 

“You said that he takes control of you. I’d like to see that. To meet him, if you will.”

 

“Well I’ve—I’ve never… I mean, he doesn’t usually ask my permission you see, and he’s—what, should I just ask him to take over?” The elf offered no response and, to his surprise, neither did the dragon. “Er, Mister Dragon? If you could just, you know…”

 

No response, despite the fact that Bilbo was sure this would have at least caused some amusement or insult. The silence worried him, even though it was exactly what he had been hoping for when he set off to see the elves.

 

“You’ve been eager enough to take me over before, go on,” he urged. When this garnered no response, Bilbo’s temper snapped. “Show them what you can do, you great bloody lizard!”

 

He thought, for the briefest of moments, that the dragon was still unconvinced. Then he thought he was being killed for his insolence, as claws and fire rent his mind asunder.

 

As a rule, hobbits were not much used to pain. Unlike dwarves, they saw little need for violence or bloodshed. Their worst injuries resulted from accidents through the course of farming or some other trade. One of the Brandybucks had lost a finger to an axe once, but that was about the worst pain that had been seen in recent history. In no way could it compare to the fierce agony Bilbo felt and his pure unadulterated panic that he would surely die from such torture.

 

Later when he opened his eyes he found that he still felt as though someone had jammed a hot poker up the back of his neck and into his skull. The rest of his body fared somewhat better, but he found himself with heavy limbs that were the doubtless evidence of a sleeping draught or something similar.

 

“Wh—“ he choked on the word, throat dry, and was startled when Kίli appeared in front of him, offering a cup of cool water. It was a struggle to sit up, but the reward soothed his throat and made a bit of headway against the fire behind his eyes.

 

“You blacked out,” Kίli offered quietly. He was watching Bilbo with no small amount of concern. “You… I have never heard someone scream like that. Like you were being ripped apart.”

 

“Felt like I was being ripped apart.” Bilbo had another drink from the cup and did his best to look around the room. It was very difficult to focus. “Mennor?”

 

“Left, after we finally got you to settle. It’s been hours. He gave you something to stop the—attack.” Kίli was now watching him warily, as though he was afraid the dragon would come again at any time. It made Bilbo sick to think the young dwarf might be afraid of him.

 

“Was he convinced?”

 

Kίli nodded but didn’t elaborate. The young dwarf retreated back to his chair, a wrinkle in his brow. There was something wrong, Bilbo could tell. Something Kίli wasn’t sharing.

 

“Did I—he—hurt you?” It was these fits that had robbed him of the role of unofficial tutor and fauntling minder back home. To lose control in front of the children would have been unforgivable. Kίli’s expression cleared for a moment as he shook his head.

 

“No, it’s not that. It’s...” He trailed off, gaze turning pensive and uncertain. “I don’t know if I should tell you. Do you remember anything?”

 

“Not a whit,” Bilbo assured him. “Just the pain and then nothing. Blackness.”

 

The young dwarf nodded, though Bilbo’s words did nothing to clear his expression. It was a stark contrast to the playful and curious personality he’d portrayed the day before. Bilbo felt dread building in his stomach as he realized the dragon had said nothing since his return to consciousness.

 

“You spoke,” Kίli said finally. “Or he spoke, I suppose. It wasn’t common, though, it was something… foul. The elf even looked disturbed by the sound of it. Then he said something else, only it was in Khudzul. Our language, dwarf language. No other races should know it.”

 

Kίli then fell silent, his brow wrinkled in worry, but Bilbo did not know how to reassure him.

 

Still the dragon did not speak and Bilbo found he could not be relieved.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin has no chill.

They lapsed into silence for the rest of the morning, both lost in their own thoughts. Kίli seemed troubled not only by what he had witnessed, but by his current predicament as a guest of elves. Bilbo’s thoughts were consumed by the dragon and the pain, as well as whatever it was that the dragon had said. When he pressed Kίli to share what he had said, the dwarf refused. Apparently he would not or could not translate the dwarven secret tongue. Blast the secrecy of dwarves! Bilbo would have to ask Mennor when the healer returned, as Kίli had no answers for him.

 

When the door opened next, however, it was not to admit the healer but two elven warriors. With quick movements, before either Bilbo or Kίli could react, the guards had relieved Kίli of his bow and clapped him in irons.

 

Bilbo was on his feet before he was sure he had the strength to stand. “What are you doing?” He grabbed the wrist of the nearest guard, trying to pull him away. “Get off of him, what is the meaning of this?”

 

“Orders from Lord Elrond, Master Hobbit,” the guard replied, easily breaking free from Bilbo’s grip. Kίli struggled frantically as he was restrained, but the close quarters had given the pair of elves the advantage. The young dwarf’s eyes were wide with panic and anger, which only served to fan Bilbo’s protective instincts.

 

“He has done nothing,” Bilbo shouted, horrified that the elves would detain and spirit away the young dwarf to Yavanna only knew where. “On what charges would you try him?”

 

At that moment Kίli managed to stamp on the foot of one of the guards and used the distraction to lunge away from them. Bilbo hurriedly put himself between the elves and his companion.

 

“Our Lord Elrond—“

 

Bilbo did not let the elf finish. Channeling every bit confidence he could muster, he pulled himself up to his full height and stared the guards down. “Take us to him. I would hear him explain himself.”

 

He was rewarded by twin expressions of surprise, which grew impressed as the iron manacles landed heavily on the wooden floor between them. A glance over his shoulder showed Kίli rubbing at his now freed wrists and glaring at the elves.

 

“As would I,” the dwarf growled. For a moment the guards said nothing. “Well? Does your lord lack so much honor as to deny an explanation to those he would see imprisoned?”

 

Finally one of the guards stepped from the room and gestured for them to follow.

 

~

 

If the elf sitting on the throne was surprised by the arrival of Bilbo and Kίli in the grand receiving room, he did not show it. The room itself was a wide, open space, filled with natural light: a direct contrast to Lord Elrond’s shuttered expression. The lord dismissed the guards with a gesture and raised a delicate brow when the warriors hesitated.

 

“You do me great insult to imply a dwarfling and a hobbit would be too much a threat for me to overcome.” The guards then beat a hasty retreat, murmuring swift apologies before closing the double doors to the room. Once they had gone, Lord Elrond stood and approached his guests.

 

Bilbo found that the confidence with which he had spoken to the guards faltered in the presence of the Lord of Rivendell. He wasn’t sure what to say or where to start, realizing quickly that shouting at the guards and causing a fuss may very well not have endeared him to Elrond.

 

Trying to imprison Kίli hadn’t endeared Elrond to him either, so perhaps they were even. Still, he stammered for a moment under the elf’s cool, appraising gaze.

 

“Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna, you are most welcome in my halls,” Lord Elrond said finally, having apparently having finished his silent assessment. Bilbo looked up at him sharply.

 

“You have me at a disadvantage. You were acquainted with my mother?” It was far from the point of their little visit, but he could not withhold his curiosity.

 

“Belladonna roamed these halls often,” Lord Elrond replied, inclining his head graciously. “She was a friend of elves and in her passing that title has come to you now.”

 

There was a story there, which Bilbo desperately wanted to hear, but with every passing moment Kίli’s expression grew fiercer. Questions about his mother would have to wait.

 

“And is this how you treat your friends, my lord?” he asked, putting a restraining hand on the young dwarf’s arm. It wouldn’t do for him to pull out his bow again. “Detaining their companions without so much as a word of explanation?”

 

Lord Elrond made no immediate reply, gaze flicking to Bilbo’s hand on Kίli’s arm and then up to their faces. The silver circlet that he wore glinted in the sun as he bowed his head again.

 

“You will forgive my caution, I hope,” he said after a long moment. “The roads have grown dangerous of late, orcs and other creatures of ill repute accosting travelers at every turn. My sons tell me you met these troubles first hand earlier this morn.” He paused delicately, looking back toward the throne. Bilbo noticed with a jolt that Elrohir and Elladan stood silently at the head of the room.

 

“I would know what dangers pass through my lands, as neither orc nor dwarf have come this way in many centuries.” One long fingered hand strayed to the sword at the elf lord’s side. “There are those who believe it is not chance that both races have found their way here these days.”

 

“Take that back,” Kίli growled, eyes flashing. His hands twitched for his bow, but much to Bilbo’s relief he did not draw it out. “How dare you speak of my kin like that! We have nothing to do with the orc filth!”

 

Lord Elrond spoke directly to Bilbo, ignoring Kίli’s fierce words. “You can see, I’m sure, why finding the son of an old friend in such company would raise my suspicions.”

 

“He is no guide,” Elladan pointed out, stepping forward to join his father. “And no guard.”

 

“He gave a false name,” Elrohir added. “We feared what trouble you might have found yourself in.”

 

Well that—Bilbo sputtered for a moment, both touched by the elves’ concern for him and wholeheartedly frustrated with the ridiculousness of the situation.

 

“I’m in no trouble,” he managed finally. Honestly, did no one believe he could take care of himself? “And he gave a false name because he doesn’t trust you. You’ve given him every reason not to!”

 

There was a long moment of silence, in which the elves before him conferred with glances alone and behind him Kίli seemed ready to begin shouting again. Though Bilbo believed his anger was justified, he also knew that it would do no good. Thankfully, before Kίli could begin again, Lord Elrond spoke.

 

“It appears we have misjudged the situation,” he acknowledged carefully. “My apologies. It was far too hasty to order your companion’s detainment. He is free to go as he chooses.”

 

No apology for insinuating that the dwarves were working with orcs. Though he hadn’t known them long, Bilbo believed fully that such an alliance was impossible. Orcs were hated by all the decent races across Middle Earth, dwarves included, if his mother’s stories were to be believed. Bilbo was beginning to wonder how much of his mother’s tales were based on experience.

 

“That being said,” Lord Elrond continued, interrupting Bilbo’s train of thought. “I would not advise you accompany him any longer. He may intend no ill will, but I suspect there is much he hasn’t told you. You know not what trouble he would heap upon you by merit of his blood and name.”

 

“What do you mean?” Bilbo frowned, glancing to Kίli only to find the young dwarf looking quite unsettled. Was there some truth to what Elrond said? He looked back to the elf in question, whose lips quirked in a small smile.

 

“I believe it is time for proper introductions.” Behind them the double doors opened, admitting another set of guards who flanked four familiar dwarves. “May I present to you, Master Baggins, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, and his heirs Fίli and Kίli, the princes of Erebor.”

 

Bilbo’s jaw dropped. Thrain was the dwarven king that ruled in his mother’s stories. If what Lord Elrond said was true, he had been traveling with royalty all this time, without even knowing it! Before he could do much more than gawp a head of blonde streaked toward them.

 

“Kίli!” The young dwarf raced to meet his brother halfway and they collided in an embrace. Fίli spun Kίli around in his arms before they both dropped to the floor in a heap, murmuring in Khuzdul to one another. He could hear the sheer relief in the golden haired prince’s tone and realized for the first time how this must have looked to the other dwarves.

 

A broad shouldered, cloak covered body stepped into his line of sight, bringing his attention away from the young dwarves. Thorin crowded toward Bilbo and shoved him back away from the lads.

 

“You,” he seethed. Bilbo had never seen so much anger, could barely comprehend the absolute rage coming off of Thorin in waves. “You dare touch him? You dare take him from me and pass him to these tree-shagging ingrates? You will regret laying your filthy hands on him, you honorless, conniving scum! You coward!”

 

Bilbo backed up rapidly, trying to avoid the onslaught of accusations. Thorin shoved him again as his tone rose. Though not as tall as the elves, he still managed to tower over Bilbo, whose heart clenched in fear.

 

“I’ll have your hands for this,” Thorin said, swiftly drawing his sword. “I’ll have your head!”

 

“ _Amadnadad,_ no!” Just as Thorin raised his arm to strike, Kίli appeared at his side, pulling at his sword arm. In the same instant, Lord Elrond had insinuated himself between Bilbo and his would be executioner. His royal executioner. Let it be said that when things went odd, they did not go by halves.

 

“This hobbit is a guest in my home and under my protection,” Elrond said, unfazed by the blade now turned on him. “You will not harm him.”

 

"And you would protect a traitor, a thief and betrayer within your walls?" Thorin's voice rose dangerously despite Kίli’s tugging and reassurances. Bilbo found he could not get a word in between them. “How very like your kind.”

 

"Uncle, please, stop! He didn't—Fίli get _off_ \-- he didn't force me into anything, he didn’t steal me. He’s only a hobbit, do you think so little of my abilities?"

 

Of course, that was how it had looked. Bilbo felt sick to his stomach, recognizing now the pain and panic that had been in Fίli’s expression before catching sight of his brother. They’d no doubt feared the worst, all because Bilbo hadn’t been thinking! He shouldn’t have invited the dwarf with him, should have turned him back to his kin.

 

Regardless it was very extreme and not to mention quite rude to threaten beheading over such a misunderstanding. He was grateful for Kίli’s insistent defense of him, even while his brother tried to pull him back and shush him. The younger dwarf dug in his heels and resisted.

 

“He would have led you to danger!” Thorin bellowed, pushing Kίli back with one strong arm. “Fίli, take him to the others. I would not have him near this creature any longer.”

 

To Thorin’s right, Dwalin stood with an axe clasped loosely in his grasp. He looked very much like he was about to go after Bilbo himself if Thorin— _Prince_ Thorin, Bilbo had to remind himself, which made his transgressions all the worse—did not get on with it. A few paces back Balin watched the scene unfold, an expression of mixed anger and disappointment furrowing his features.

 

“Your majesty,” Lord Elrond insisted, still empty handed though he stood between Bilbo and a drawn blade. “You will not harm Master Baggins within these halls. Your quarrel with him will be settled without bloodshed. Put down your sword.”

 

Elrond’s appeal to reason did little to calm the enraged prince. Instead his words seemed to turn the dwarf’s rage onto another target.

 

“And you! What would you do with my nephew?” Thorin demanded of the elven lord. “Are we your prisoners, then, leaf eater? You will not, you can not hold us!”

 

"I do not intend to," Elrond replied easily, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace and welcome. "As long as you mean no harm, you are welcome to come or go as you please. I am afraid Master Baggins occupies the only room with furniture for your proportions, but there are other quarters which you are welcome to."

 

"The hobbit comes with us," Thorin said. It seemed his blood lust was fading, the rage in his eyes diminished. He sheathed his sword but still stood toe to toe with the elven lord.

 

"Master Baggins has asked for our help. He will stay until we understand his malady."

 

"He was traveling with us and he will continue to do so,” Thorin repeated stubbornly. It wasn’t really clear then if he was insisting so that he could continue his assault against Bilbo outside the walls of Rivendell, or if he intended to see him to Erebor.

 

"He--"

 

"He will speak for himself, thank you!" It was one thing to stand behind the elf lord, like a fauntling hiding behind his mother’s skirts, but it was entirely another to be discussed as though he wasn’t there. “The decision is mine, is it not? I would thank you both to remember that.”

 

Elrond inclined his head graciously and offered what might have been an apologetic look on someone more expressive. Thorin jerked his head in something like a nod, though he was far from happy about it.

 

"I would know why you disappeared with my kin,” he said after a short pause. His glare moved from Bilbo to his sister-sons. Fίli had made no headway pulling Kίli away from the conflict. "From the beginning."

 

"I am sure your kin will tell you, but for the moment Master Baggins needs rest and quiet." Elrond gestured over his shoulder, beckoning his sons. "Elrohir and Elladan will show you to some rooms. I hope you will stay for luncheon if nothing else."

 

Thorin gave another jerking nod and Bilbo took that moment to speak up. “I meant Kίli no harm,” he said, though the young dwarf had already insisted such. “Nor was it my intent to cause you such distress.”

 

The dwarven prince did not meet his gaze, too busy now looking over his youngest nephew. He did not even acknowledge that Bilbo had spoken.

 

"Master Baggins, if you will allow me to escort you to the healing wing..." Elrond suggested delicately, when it was clear the dwarves had dismissed him.

 

Bilbo nodded and followed him. It seemed that this would be the end of his trouble with dwarves. The Baggins in him only wished they might have parted on better terms.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to everyone for reading and encouraging me! Your kudos and comments mean the world to me. I'll admit this chapter gave me fits, but now it's in your hands. Thanks for looking at it for me, Mary. I also changed the story's summary to something better, hope nobody gets confused. If you're interested I'm sebastianmeringue on tumblr. Always looking for new friends and Hobbit enthusiasts.

 

Lord Elrond urged Bilbo down the hall with a gentle hand against his shoulder. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but the elven lord seemed much warmer now that he was not in the presence of dwarves.

 

“If I recall correctly, now is about the time for your ‘elevenses’, is it not?” Elrond wore a small smile as he glanced down at Bilbo. “I’ve no doubt you are hungry from your travels.”

 

Had he been back in the Shire, Bilbo likely would have eaten his elevenses standing up, pacing the length of his living room and speaking to the portraits above the hearth. The past twenty-four hours had been ridiculous, which was saying something considering he was on a journey to rid himself of a voice in his head. Dwarves, elves, orcs, far too many weapons for him to be comfortable, and not to mention being nearly crushed by a dead orc! He probably had blood on his shirt. The thought made him shudder, but he refused to look down and check. He could just imagine his father’s horror and his mother, well… Belladonna had never been one to turn down an adventure, even if it meant getting a bit messy.

 

“Some tea would be lovely, if you have any,” he replied, trying not to sound too hopeful. “As far as I know, hobbits are the only race with so many meals. I don’t wish to be a burden.”

 

As he spoke they entered a cozy, warmly lit room. There were a couple of armchairs, one large and one small, Bilbo was surprised to see, and a table faintly groaning with food. Someone had been very busy. There were sandwiches of many different types, fruits, berries and several trays of almost every kind of pastry Bilbo could imagine, from sweet to savory and everything in between. As accustomed as it was now to plain travel fare, the hobbit’s stomach gave a great gurgle in delighted anticipation, which made his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

 

Lord Elrond seemed not to notice, or perhaps he was too kind to make mention of it.

 

“You are not the first hobbit to walk these halls. Nor, I hope, will you be the last.” He urged Bilbo forward and, though the table was a bit tall, there was at least a nice stepstool to help him reach the veritable feast before him. Elrond filled his own plate as Bilbo selected the choicest pieces without an ounce of shame. “Second breakfast never quite caught on with my kin, but a mid morning repast became quite popular after your mother’s visits.”

 

Before might not have been the time to ask about his mother, but now certainly was. If only his mouth wasn’t stuffed full of delicious pastry. He managed an inquiring noise, looking to Lord Elrond with curiosity.

 

“She was an honored guest and a very good friend,” the elf told him, an expression of fond reminiscence gracing his features. “We don’t often meet your kind, but when we do they are inevitably ‘Tooks’. We corresponded long after her last visit here, after you were born. Did you know she demanded to learn Sindarin?”

 

 _“She insisted I learn as well,”_ Bilbo returned in the Elvish tongue, not quite as smoothly as he would have liked. He’d missed having a conversation partner ever since his mother had passed. _“And some Quenyan; half of her story books were written in that as well.”_

 

A broad, pleased smile lit Elrond’s face in delight. _“You honor her memory well.”_

 

Bilbo’s cheeks reddened and he ducked his head at the praise. Not knowing how to respond, he picked out another sandwich to munch on. He could feel Lord Elrond’s gaze on him, assessing him, but he did not know what the elven lord was looking for.

 

“I apologize for my hastiness earlier,” he said finally. “I’m afraid my concern for Belladonna Took’s son overwhelmed my tact.”

 

Bilbo flapped a hand. “You’ve already apologized and you’re quite forgiven. By me, at any rate. I cannot speak for the dwarves. And… I do appreciate what you said. I might not have known the truth about them otherwise.”

 

Hobbits didn’t have royalty, but they had stories and Bilbo possessed enough common sense to understand why a band of princes might choose to travel incognito. That did not make their secrecy rankle any less, considering that they had intended to take him back to their mountain. It was not a ruse they could have kept up there, he imagined, so why bother in the first place?

 

“Yes, well…” Lord Elrond trailed off, either unsure of what to say or deciding to keep his initial thought to himself. Bilbo couldn’t tell. “I do not believe they intended you any harm. Until you ran off with one of their kin, that is.”

 

Bilbo sputtered for a moment in indignation, but then he caught sight of Elrond’s smirk, which widened slightly, urging him to share the joke. He was being teased. He, a plain and simple hobbit, teased by an elven lord. He almost giggled, but the thought of Thorin’s ferocity made him still.

 

“Do you really believe they have something to do with the orcs?” he asked, thinking back to Elrond’s earlier suggestion. It was difficult to imagine, despite knowing so little of dwarves. The ones from his mother’s stories were almost always honorable and loyal; how could a people like that band together with a race that lived only for blood and pain?

 

The teasing expression slipped quickly as Lord Elrond replied to his question. “I do not know, Master Baggins,” he admitted. “The rise in orc activity of late has been a most troublesome matter. And to find dwarves! Dwarves, who have not left their mountains in several centuries…”

 

He paused for a moment, before looking to Bilbo with slightly narrowed eyes. “How did you come to be traveling with them?”

 

To answer that question Bilbo had to explain the purpose of his trip to Rivendell, so he started at the beginning when the dragon first began to speak to him. He spoke of the journey, of the fire and the dwarves, though his story focused on what had happened rather than the why or how of it.

 

“They insisted I come along,” he said, settling back in his chair and folding his hands over his full belly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this satisfied. “They weren’t very forthcoming about why.”

 

Lord Elrond was a good audience to his tale, listening intently and asking just a few questions for clarification. It became clear very quickly that he was more concerned with the matter of Bilbo’s malady than with the dwarves.

 

“This voice,” he began, watching Bilbo with piercing eyes. “What is it called?”

 

Bilbo blinked at him. “I… I don’t know. It never introduced itself.”

 

That response seemed to trouble Elrond greatly. He stood and gave Bilbo a slow nod of acknowledgment. “There are matters I must see to. You are welcome to remain here; a guard can escort you back to your room, if you wish.”

 

He left, long legs eating up the distance to the door in just a few steps and carrying him quickly away. Stunned at the sudden departure, Bilbo had not so much as moved.

 

 _Smaug_ , whispered a small voice in his mind. It was the first he had heard from the dragon since his collapse earlier that day, and Bilbo did not know if he ought to be worried or relieved.

 

_My name is Smaug._

~

 

Despite his insistent inquiries and outright demands, the dragon refused to explain anything to Bilbo. Not the absence, not the pain, not the sudden weakness in its—his?—voice. Instead, Smaug curled around the base of his skull as a low and throbbing headache. When Bilbo returned to his room in the healing wing he found Mennor there with a tonic for pain.

 

The elf was oddly quiet, asking no more questions about Bilbo’s state, nor even commenting on what had happened earlier. He left once he was sure that Bilbo had emptied his glass, leaving the hobbit alone with his thoughts and a brooding dragon. After the excitement from earlier, Bilbo thought he might welcome the solitude. Unfortunately it only seemed to make room for his troubled thoughts to grow.

 

From dwarves to elves, it seemed everyone knew something more about the dragon than they wished to disclose. Lord Elrond at least had been polite about it, while the dwarves had abducted him. He was not so disillusioned to believe their insistence was really about protecting him, a stranger to them, from the hands of elves. No, it must have been more important than that to merit bringing him all the way to Erebor.

 

Somehow, despite threatening him and nearly making an attempt on his life—nearly, only because he was certain that if Thorin wanted to kill him he would have managed it, elf lord or no—the dwarf still insisted that he accompany them.

 

It was a ridiculous notion: that he, a defenseless gentle hobbit would consent to travel across the continent with strangers that had threatened him with violence.

 

 _You are not as defenseless as that_ , Smaug informed him, a flicker of annoyance crossing his mind. _You have me_.

 

“That’s not as reassuring as you seem to think,” Bilbo mumbled, slumping back onto the bed. He closed his eyes, reveling in the softness of the mattress, loving the way it molded to his body, so unlike the dirt and rocks of the road.

 

Without meaning to, he drifted off and was woken some time later by a knock at the door. He stretched, sat up and straightened his clothes, then called for his visitor to enter.

 

It was the prince, Thorin.

 

Bilbo swallowed uneasily, backing away from him before he knew what he was doing. Much to his relief, Thorin’s expression was not one of anger, nor did he seek to close the distance between them. In fact, Bilbo realized, he wasn’t even wearing his sword.

 

“Dwalin has it,” Thorin said, noticing Bilbo’s gaze. He jerked his chin toward the door, indicating his fellow was waiting outside. “I came without it as a gesture of good intent.”

 

“I’m glad to see that your nephew has talked some sense into you.” Almost instantly Bilbo flushed at his own words, not feeling half as brave as all that. The Shire had no royalty, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of the power they held and the respect they often demanded. Thorin said he had come with good intent and here Bilbo was mouthing off! His father would have been mortified.

 

Thorin’s reaction was not one of anger, however. If anything he seemed surprised and… was that a hint of embarrassment? Uncertainty? For all that he held himself tall and proud there was something else in his expression. He certainly seemed unused to people talking back to him, which was not unexpected given his station.

 

“I lost my temper and greatly wronged you with my accusations,” Thorin said after a long moment of regarding him. The words came uneasily and it startled Bilbo to see the dwarf fidgeting. He was clearly none too familiar with apologies. “For that I am sorry.”

 

“Your defense of your kin does you credit.” Bilbo gave him a small, forgiving nod. It wasn’t in his heart to hold a grudge, not faced with one who admitted his wrongdoing and sought peace.

 

Despite Bilbo’s reassuring tone, the dwarven prince’s expression did not soften and he did not relax. He merely nodded and from an inner pocket of his cloak, pulled a bejeweled dagger.

 

“My actions were not befitting of a son of Durin.” He offered the dagger to Bilbo, holding it by the blade and bowing his head. “You may take what you wish.”

 

Apparently, just as dwarves would not accept “I’d rather not” in response to a call for explanation, they also did not accept forgiveness in simple terms that a hobbit could understand. Bilbo did not take the blade, which was quite frankly larger than even his largest kitchen knife, and shook his head.

 

“You’re quite forgiven,” he said, wishing the dwarf would look up. It seemed almost unnatural for him to have his head bowed thus. A prince, gaze lowered in deference to a hobbit! He was quite sure he didn’t deserve the solemnity of Thorin’s words.

 

“You will not take my braid?” Relief swept over the dwarf as he straightened, but it was quickly followed by suspicion. “I have wronged you in front of others. I am honor bound to offer recompense.”

 

“Your braid?” What on this good green earth would Bilbo do with a braid? The gesture he understood from the many stories of his childhood, but he couldn’t possibly accept. “No, no, my friend. Dwarves value their hair greatly, don’t they? I would not take that from you over such a small misunderstanding.”

 

Thorin did not insist, but slowly tucked the dagger away again as he watched Bilbo. He felt as though Thorin was looking through him, down to his very soul, with the way that he assessed him. In that moment he looked very regal, the picture of a solemn king.

 

“We have offered you naught but insult, yet you would call me friend?”

 

Bilbo blushed slightly at that. It was just an expression, wasn’t it? Except… well surely a prince had more important things to attend to than making apologies to one who wasn’t even his subject.

 

“Take this instead,” Thorin went on, and before Bilbo could protest he had pulled free a bead clasped at the end of one of his braids. He took Bilbo’s hand and closed his fingers around it. “As proof of the favor of Durin’s sons.”

 

It was a finely made bead, a rectangle of some kind of silver metal, etched with geometric designs that centered around a small, dark blue sapphire. Bilbo tried to refuse, but Thorin was already making for the door. He paused, hand on the knob.

 

“You would be doing my people a great favor, accompanying us to Erebor,” he said, broad back to Bilbo. The words carried clearly enough, even if they made little sense. “Consider it, Master Baggins. You’ll find no help in Rivendell.”

 

With that he was gone, leaving Bilbo to admire the bead and curse the ambiguity of dwarves.


End file.
